


Three Nights at the Riddle House, or, how Hermione learned to stop worrying and love Colin Firth

by LizBee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-14
Updated: 2005-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet in three acts, in which all is fair in love and Monopoly and Colin Firth fangirling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Nights at the Riddle House, or, how Hermione learned to stop worrying and love Colin Firth

One.

  
It wasn't my best plan, kidnapping the Granger Mudblood and taking her back to the Riddle House. On the other hand, it certainly wasn't the worst, aside from the kicking and the screaming and the curses, and that was just Bellatrix's reaction when she found out I had an attractive young witch in my house.

It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan, and if worst came to worst, I was going to say that Lucius made me do it.

Why did I take her? Oh, I can't be expected to keep track of all those silly details. There was an attack, and a battle, and someone hit me with some kind of spell, and she was there and in my way, and really, it was just a spur of the moment thought: This is one of Potter's best friends. It's a well-known fact that Potter will do anything for his friends. Therefore, I can take Granger, and he might be amenable to forgetting about this whole Destiny business and lop his own head off right then and there.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Once back at the House, there was all kinds of running around as my Death Eaters, bless their precious little toes, sat down and tried to figure out who was alive, who was injured, who had been silly enough to write their names in their cloaks and then leave said cloaks behind. (Goyle, alas, answered yes to every question.)

Those little kerfuffles dealt with, I packed everyone off home for an early night, and turned to Granger, who was regarding me with an expression that I could only describe as fearful.

"Well," I said, "what'll it be? I've lost most of the Cluedo pieces, and Lucius spilled red wine all over the Game of Life board, but we still have Monopoly, backgammon and a deck of cards."

Granger stared at me.

"Well," I said, "if you don't pick, we'll just end up playing strip poker, and you know how that'll end."

More staring. Brightest witch of her age, hey? They clearly don't make 'em like they used to.

"How," she said slowly, "will it end?"

"Oh, you know. The usual -- getting drunk and running naked through Little Hangleton singing 'Sweet Transvestite', and passing out in a garbage bin somewhere."

"Oh." Granger blinked. "That's not ... I mean ... Did I take a hit on the head back there, perhaps?"

"Who knows? All sorts of things can happen in a magical battle. Tell you what." I patted her on the head. "I'll make margaritas, and you can set up the Monopoly board."

She blinked again, shook her head slightly and sighed. "Fine. Can I be the boot?"

"You can be anything you want to be, sweetie," I promised.

"I also want to be very, very drunk."

"That can also be arranged."

Two.

  
Twenty hours later, I was losing to the Mudblood. But I was also too drunk to care, so that was all right.

"You know what's good?" Hermione asked, weaving her little boot through her little nest of little hotels on her little Diagon Alley. Bitch. "What's really, really good?"

"No," I said. "What's really, really good?" I lay back and watched my shoe dangle from my big toe. Hours of endless fascination to be had! With margaritas!

"Strip Monopoly."

The shoe dropped. I sat up and said, "That _does_ sound like fun."

"Yeah." Hermione sighed, lost, no doubt, in some happy memory of innocent childish pleasures. "The twins taught us to play last summer. Of course," she hic-upped delicately, "we were drinking grasshoppers instead of margaritas, and Ron had to make them in old potions bottles, because we couldn't find a proper shaker, so they tasted a little bit strange. But it was fun. And no one sang 'Sweet Transvestite'."

This was looking better and better.

Another two hours later, I was being sick in a shoe. My shoe, in fact. And Hermione was singing 'Somebody to Love', which was surely a sign of the coming Apocalypse. Which was worrying, because I was pretty sure that _I_ was the coming Apocalypse, although right now, the only fearsome thing about me was the rather impressive amount of vomit I was generating. I hadn't been this sick since I let Wormtail take me out for curry that time in Leeds. Come here, Potter, and I'll vomit on your head.

Hermione gave me a sympathetic look, but I was onto her little games. Utilities _and_ big property, and she dealt Community Chest cards from the bottom, the little hussy. Soon as I'm sober again, I thought, I'll hex her good and proper. Thinks she can bankrupt Lord Voldemort _and_ take my pants, eh? Well, we'll show _her_ who's Dark Lord around here...

On that thought, I passed out.

  
Three.

  
"Wazzashmizzle?" I said.

"Oh dear." A face. Blurry. Little pants-stealing minx. "You seem to have a bit of a hangover, Lord Voldemort."

"Fuzzahsmu?"

"Quite."

Stole my pants, didn't have a hangover, didn't have stale vomit in her shoe. Little cow had _everything_.

I licked my lips, or the space where my lips would have been if I hadn't sacrificed them to a Greater Cause, and said, "Pardon me, Hermione, but where are my pants?"

"On your legs. I thought I should dress you, since ... well, just in case anyone came in. I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about ... you know."

"Don't flatter yourself, kid," I said. "I wasn't _that_ drunk, and you don't look _that_ much like Colin Firth."

She looked interested. "I wondered why you had three copies of _Pride and Prejudice_ in your collection."

"Taped from the tv _and_ bought the videos, and then Nott gave me the DVDs for Christmas. Always liked Nott, you know. Have big things planned for him. He's so much more competent than Lucius. Real dark horse. Put your money on Nott."

"Nott, you say?"

"Yup. And Narcissa. Lovely girl, Narcissa. Keeps old Lucius in line, if you know what I mean. Shame about the boy. Have to kill him eventually."

"What a shame." Somehow, I found myself doubting her sincerity.

"Hermione?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Why am I tied up?"

"To stop you from escaping," she said patiently. "There are all sorts of charms and things around the room, too."

"And a truth serum in my margaritas! I knew it!"

"No. Just tequila, I'm afraid."

"Oh, right. I made the drinks."

"Right."

We looked at each other.

"I'm very disappointed, Hermione," I said. "We could have had so much fun together. You could have been my right-hand witch."

"I suppose so," she said, "but then I'd have to compete with Narcissa and Bellatrix for your attention, not to mention Nott and Lucius and Wormtail. Oh, by the way, Goyle sent an owl, he wants to know if he can lead a raid on Hogwarts to get his cloak out of the lost and found."

"Absolutely not!"

"That's what I thought you'd say. So I sent a reply telling him yes, by all means, and he should take the rest of the gang along with him."

"I can't believe you forged my signature," I moaned.

"I didn't. I just found your personalised stamp in the desk. You're really not much good at this whole evil thing, are you?"

"I've had a bad decade."

"I know." She patted me on the head. "Your eyes are all bloodshot, you know."

"No, they're always that colour."

"Oh, right. Haven't you tried drops?"

"This was all part of Potter's plan, wasn't it?" I shifted, trying to get more comfortable. "Hit me with Imperius, make me take you home, and then let you take me unawares and kill me with inanity!"

"Something like that," Hermione agreed. "Only it wasn't so much a plan as a spur-of-the-moment thing. It did seem like a good idea at the time, though." She checked her watch. "I'm early, too. They won't be coming to retrieve us for hours." She settled down on the couch and rummaged for the remote control. "I haven't watched this for _years_ ," she said as she hit _play_.

Despite myself, I couldn't help relaxing just a bit as the music started.

"Colin Firth is so handsome," she said.

I muttered something under my breath.

"Why did you draw glasses and lightning bolt scars all over his pictures?"

"Shut up."

"I was just asking."

Under the circumstances, I decided, a little bit of sulking was justified. On the other hand, I would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for ... you know.

It really did seem like a good idea at the time.

  
end


End file.
